


A Glass of Milk Before Sleep Helps Swallow the Sorrows

by misch3fbunni3



Series: Tit For Tat [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Emetophilia, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Drinking, Forced blow job, Forced fallacio, Gross, Humiliation, Just salty bitterness, M/M, Masturbation, Milk Chugging, My mess, No Aftercare, No sugar coating this, Not sure if it meets the standards-but just in case, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Hatred, Skull Fucking, Tears, Threats of Violence, Throw job, Unintended Arousal, Vomiting, Wesker is a mess figuratively and literally, William Birkin mentioned, self-indulgent mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/pseuds/misch3fbunni3
Summary: Sergei makes a house call to Wesker’s residence for his transgressions against Irons in the restroom.
Relationships: Sergei Vladimir/Albert Wesker
Series: Tit For Tat [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124438
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	A Glass of Milk Before Sleep Helps Swallow the Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> Read and head tags and the title as they are fair warning of what is going to happen here. If you have not read anything by me before, it will be fairly explicit. If you have, well I hope you enjoy this self-indulgent mess.
> 
> Alt title: Milk(ing) It For All It’s Worth  
> The posted title is from a milk ad/quote. I'm too tired to track down who inspired it.

It was not going to be a pleasant evening for one Albert Wesker as he made his way to his front door at the call from the incessant doorbell, notebook in hand, running calculations over and over in his head. William had been pestering him for days to complete the new formulas, and he was on the verge of cracking it.

So distracted as he was, Wesker did not think much of who could be on the other side of the door. As he was so preoccupied with the advanced mathematics, he did not check the peephole to see who was ringing his doorbell. If he did, Wesker would have never answered the door to the wolfish grin splitting the face of Sergei Vladimir.

Wesker had been glancing down as he gripped the door handle, and when his eyes dragged up the tall figure in his doorway, his surprise was apparent by the shocked look on his face, mouth slightly open, brows furrowed in suspicion. Sergei’s face cracked, knowing full well he had caught Wesker off guard. Again.

Before a word could be spoken between them, a thick boot was rammed into Wesker’s chest, the notebook and pen flying as Wesker’s hands spasmed. Wesker was tossed back like a rag doll several feet to land heavily on his ass before his head slammed into the floor at the sudden traction of his body with a physical surface.

Wesker groaned, his eyes wide with shock as he watched Sergei step forward and quietly close the door. He was unable to move, much less protest the gray-haired man’s entry into his apartment as he attempted to suck small gasps of air into his lungs. Wesker felt his heart skip a few beats as he lay sprawled, his breastbone having taken the brunt of the impact, already tasting slight copper in his throat.

Wesker knew full well any upper hand he could have potentially had was gone. Sergei was already a formidable opponent when he was at full strength, and now, he was not getting up anytime soon. Wesker watched as Sergei stepped forward, teeth glimmering like he was about to eat the younger man whole.

Sergei did not advance further on his incapacitated captive, stopping short of the foyer. No. He stepped towards the small coat closet near the front door as he made to remove his long coat. Still observing Wesker, he grabbed one of the cedar hangers and placed his coat on the rack along with his ascot, taking his time. He wanted some fight from the blonde, just enough to make his visit worthwhile. Giving Wesker just enough time to mostly catch his breath, Sergei took slow steps into the apartment, carefully rolling up his sleeves as he advanced.

Wesker bared his teeth as he started to push himself along the floor to put distance between him and the menacing Russian, roughly coughing as he managed to wheeze out some semblance of sarcasm to lighten what was about to be a very shitty evening, “I need to move.”

Sergei’s barking laughter almost made Wesker flinch, almost, as the older man stopped several steps from the sprawled form. Glaring down at the feeble attempt as Wesker slowly slid across the floor, “Sure you could, but I will always find you… little rabbit.”

Wesker snarled, his voice tight from the severe ache in his chest, “Like the fucking hunting dog you are, Sergei!”

Sergei chuckled, advancing once more on the stilled form, “I’ll take as compliment.”

Before Wesker could react, Sergei had straddled him, causing him to grunt at the additional pressure against his chest. Sergei gave Wesker no time to adjust as a fist made contact with his right cheek, whipping his head to the side. Sergei did not stop his vicious onslaught, aiming for a new stretch of skin with each strike, including the now bruised breastbone. Choked wheezes were wrenched from Wesker as he struggled to block the blows, grappling with the fists that did not let up.

A particularly strong punch split Wesker’s lower lip, causing a strangled cry to escape. Sergei tisked in disappointment. He was trying to avoid too much damage to Wesker’s face. Having two officers walking around the precinct with bruised faces would raise suspicion. Sergei paused to reassess where to strike next, sucking on his teeth, staring down at rage-filled pale eyes with mirth.

However, Wesker had a different idea than to be Sergei’s punching bag as he was able to gain slight leverage to flip Sergei causing the gray-haired man to crash to the ground face-first as Wesker managed to find his feet. Suddenly noticing his pen that had gone flying, he quickly grabbed for it to use as an improvised weapon.

Wesker had managed to get to his feet, able to get a few good punches in against the larger man, aiming for where he knew old injuries were. Using the pen he had hidden, Wesker tried to stab Sergei and was able to get in a few small jabs along Sergei’s chest and arms. The pen perforated the skin of Sergei’s left forearm deeply, upon which a meaty fist caught Wesker’s wrist. Pale eyes blazing in pure hatred, Wesker grunted, trying to dig the pen in further, but the thick hand around his wrist squeezed tighter causing bones to grind.

Sergei bore a toothy grin once again, “I suggest you let go before something bad happens.”

Wesker grit his teeth, growling, captured hand shaking at the physical threat to his wrist. Wesker suddenly tried to fain an attack with his other hand, but Sergei saw right through it and clamped down on the wrist, wrenching it away from the pen and using the momentum to slam Wesker’s face into the granite kitchen island.

Stunned momentarily, a gash had erupted along Wesker’s left eyebrow. Dazed from the hard knock, Wesker’s body started to slide towards the floor, but Sergei wrapped his fingers into the immaculate blonde hair to yank him upright, causing a strangled shout. Face scrunched from the rough treatment, Wesker struggled as he was dragged by his hair and shirt into his kitchen.

The grip on his person was released as Wesker was tossed forcefully into the stainless-steel fridge, denting the panel and rocking the heavy appliance as he fell onto his side. Writhing, trying to get his bearings, Wesker curled his arms around his chest, protecting the bruised bone and pulled cartilage, unsure if his bones could take another hit before caving in. The motion caused bursts of pain as he attempted to expand his bruised sternum trying to suck oxygen back into his lungs.

Having some semblance of self-preservation, Wesker again tried to put distance between them, sliding along the tile.

There were a lot of creative things one can do in the kitchen. They both knew this. However, Sergei became distracted by the fridge door that had popped open from the abrupt collision with Wesker’s body. The shelves practically bare except a few takeout boxes, condiments, juice, and an open carton of milk. Eyeballing the milk container while trying to keep Wesker within his peripheral vision, Sergei reached out, his expression darkening as he grabbed the carton.

Still watching Wesker, who had given up trying to move any further, slouched, still obviously struggling for air. Sergei opened the waxed cardboard to smell how good it was. Frowning slightly at the freshness and sighing in disappointment, Sergei dropped his eye back to the heaving blonde leaning against the cabinets who was cradling his bruised wrist over his heaving chest.

Sergei placed the carton against the back of the counter so it would not get knocked over. He didn’t want his fun to be ruined before it could start. Stepping forward hastily, Sergei grabbed Wesker’s shirt, pulling him upright harshly, wrenching the shirttails from where they had been tucked into his tactical pants.

Grinning at the attempted struggling, Sergei quickly snagged Wesker’s belt, opening the clasp roughly and pulling it violently from the younger man’s waist, harsh enough that the leather snapped along his skin as it exited the belt loops. Without hesitation, Sergei proceeded to tightly bind Wesker’s wrists together, not caring if one was potentially broken or not.

Still struggling but with a slight smirk on his own face, the action reopening his split lip, Wesker drawled in a husky voice from the strain on his chest and esophagus, “What? No handcuffs this time?”

Sergei was silent but chuckled, allowing the younger man a moment of sarcasm. He had a plan but did not want Wesker’s hands impeding his goal. Sergei wrapped the free end of the belt around one fist to keep Wesker’s hands in place as he bent the younger man bodily against the counter, causing Wesker to arch backward, trapped in place by the bulky Russian.

With the hand wrapped with the belt, Sergei snatched Wesker’s face to press against his jaw with enough pressure to force Wesker’s mouth open wide enough to pore the white liquid down his throat forcefully. Wesker's eyes widened, sputtering as he tried to swallow as fast as he could as to not choke on the cold liquid. Wesker distantly tried to remember there being over a quarter gallon left. It was almost too much, yet thankful that was all that was left.

Wesker has no clue what the maniac was planning as Sergei continued to force him to drink, his stomach expanding uncomfortably as he chugged as fast as he could. Finally, the container was empty, which was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Wesker grit his now released teeth together at the uncomfortable position he was in as his bound wrists were jerked roughly, feeling bones grind against each other.

Sergei moved forward, and to no further prompt, licked the liquid that had splattered against Wesker’s chin. A sound of disgust escaped Wesker, which turned into a yelp as his legs were kicked out from under him, dropping him to his knees harshly.

Keeping a tight hold on the belt, Sergei dragged Wesker through the apartment, looking at all the door handles. Finding what he was looking for, he wrapped the leather belt around each side of the bathroom doorknob and slammed the door shut tight, locking Wesker in place, hands tightly bound and at Sergei’s mercy. Sergei made sure there was enough slack that he would be able to position the younger man according to his improvised plan.

Wesker glowered up at Sergei with deep contempt. Lips peeled back to expose pink teeth, hair mussed from repeatedly being used to wrench his head around. But it was only then, as Sergei towered over him, that he noticed the bulge in the older man’s pants, “You have got to be fucking kidding me… Really, Sergei?!”

Sergei smirked as he smashed the back of his knuckles across Wesker’s cheek, wrenching the younger man’s head to the side, mouth gaping at the shock of the sudden stinging pain, eyes turned upward, watching as Sergei undid his pants and let his large cock spring from his undergarments, shamelessly stroking the thick erection to encourage it to fullness.

Sneering, Wesker seethed, not daring to move his face towards the intimidating cock, knowing full well what Sergei was planning now, “I will bite you if you place that… **thing** … anywhere near me, you sick bastard.”

The grin splitting Sergei’s face was warning enough as he continued to stroke himself, the other hand tangling in Wesker’s hair to force him more upright onto his knees. Wesker squinted his eyes at the sharp pain, clenching his teeth in refusal, trying to jerk away from where Sergei’s hand was guiding him.

Sergei pressed forward, eyes bright with wanton lust, letting the glistening head press against the crease of Wesker’s mouth who tried to wrench away, “If you bite me, I will beat you to an inch of your life, and I will make sure they will have to use your fingerprints to identify you because I will break every last one of your perfect, white teeth.”

Wesker's eyes widened minutely, knowing full well Sergei would deliver on that threat, but testing the waters anyway, “You wouldn’t! Spencer would have your ass so fas—!” Sergei cut off the tirade as he laughed, completely unfazed, staring down at the nervous mess he had already broken the younger man into, “Oh? He would not care. I’ll pay for you a nice set of dentures, nice perfect white replacements that you could take out when I shove my dick down your tight throat.” Wesker startled, shrinking back, not expecting such a vulgar response. Sergei continued, almost whispering as if he was telling Wesker a secret, “I’ll call you _babushka_ as you gum my cock as I fuck you.”

Wesker snarled, but the cock incessantly pressed against his lips, rubbing against Wesker’s nose, causing the blonde to heave slightly, eyes watering, and trying to twist his head away again from the awful smell, “Fuck would it kill you to shower once in your life!” Sergei’s face was full of joyous lust, “Well, that is just the leftovers from some filthy whore’s asshole I fucked while I ate lunch.”

Wesker wanted to drop his jaw in disgust but knew that would be giving in. No words could describe how absolutely disgusted he was as the filthy cock rubbed across his cheek, eyes glassy with an almost betrayed look of shame flushing his cheeks. Sergei tisked at his blushing captive, “Poor Albert. You think you are special? So cute.” Releasing Wesker’s hair with a bored sigh, Sergei gripped his mouth viciously, pressing against his teeth once more and forcing his jaw to unlock, “No more talking. Be a good boy and open.”

Growling, Wesker slowly allowed his mouth to open, not having much choice, to take in the hard leaking flesh pressing insistently against his lips. Once Wesker’s lips parted just enough, Sergei thrust his cock deep down Wesker’s throat, fingers holding the jaw in place as to not snap shut.

The violence of Sergei’s actions was immediate as Wesker was held firmly against the door, a thick hand clutching his hair to keep him in place as Sergei skull fucked the younger man’s mouth with brutal intent, rough and to the point, Wesker was choking, unable to get air into his lungs. Thick drool already covered the thrusting cock as Wesker was unable to swallow from the harsh fucking. Tears bubbled and streamed down Wesker’s cheeks from lack of air, his hands wrenching to try and get free from the belt wrapped tightly around his wrists but only ended up scraping his skin to rawness.

Noticing the writhing of his unwilling partner, Sergei thrust into the spasming wet heat harder. A hand released the blonde scalp to reach down to grip Wesker’s neck to tighten the cocksleeve he had made of the younger man’s throat. After several thrusts, Sergei snarled in irritation, his actions not having the effect he wanted on the younger man, “Your gag reflex is excellent. You suck cock much too often, da Comrade?”

Wesker’s cheeks were flushed, his face reddening further, almost embarrassed for having such a skillful mouth, but it could also have been due to the lack of air, though his murderous eyes said otherwise. Suddenly, Sergei jammed his boot up between Wesker’s legs. Not as hard as the blessings Wesker had received from Irons weeks ago but enough to cause the reaction Sergei desired.

Wesker’s body convulsed forward, shoving the thick cock deeper down his throat from the action and struggling more desperately at his bonds as he vomited violently, white splattering forcefully around the thick cock stuffing his face brutally. Wesker could barely hear the loud moan from the towering figure as he clenched his eyes shut against the acidic liquid that filled every available space in his mouth not occupied by Sergei's dick. Wesker could barely comprehend what was happening as he lost all control.

White vomit splattered everywhere with each deep thrust of Sergei's cock down Wesker’s bruised throat as the vast amount of milk he was forced to drink erupted violently. The slightly curdled liquid soaked into Sergei’s pants. The glazed look of absolute euphoria on the older man’s face spoke for itself as he watched milk gush from Wesker’s nose and down his face, drenching his skin and clothes. Wesker was unable to find any relief as Sergei held him in place, not even able to adjust to his contracting abdomen.

Despite having such excellent control of his gag reflex, Wesker could not stop the powerful spasms of his body once it had started. The control he had over his gag reflex nonexistent as he continued to vomit around the increasingly harsher thrusts, unable to gain any semblance of control.

The milk, along with whatever other contents that had been in his stomach, shot up his abused throat and burned his nasal passages, causing his eyes to water with more thick tears as he gurgled and choked, face and chest flushed red as veins bulging in his forehead as he suffocated. Wesker distantly thought how embarrassing of a death it would be to suffocate by cock. The crime scene playing out in his head as his peers mourn his passing by examined every piece of incriminating evidence.

Feeling the blonde’s body contracting harshly, Sergei pulled back long enough to let Wesker drag a few wet breaths in after clearing his throat, vomit and drool unending as he glared with pure rage up at Sergei, sucking in several more wheezing gasps before Sergei resumed the vicious pounding of Wesker’s face, hard enough that Sergei watched with glee as the vomit that resumed spattering around his plunging cock was tinged bright pink, the pale bubbling eyes squinted and slowly started to roll back slightly despite the loud continued choking noises and trembling body.

The vomiting slowed, now only small spurts of chunky liquid erupted from around his cock. Sergei felt the continued convulsing of Wesker’s throat, which he pressed down against once more to tighten the wet clenching channel. Sergei could feel his cock expand the flesh under his hand as he rammed even harder down the abused throat, causing Wesker’s head to bang against the door.

It did not take long for blood to start to cover his cock, causing Sergei to grin viciously down at his helpless captive and jackhammer his hips against the slackening mouth, thoroughly enjoying brutally claiming Wesker’s face and the delicious sounds of loud wet obscene choking and the banging of the blonde’s head against the hard wood. Sergei grinned like a shark, the claiming of Wesker’s sweet mouth had not been on the menu this evening, but it was a perfect alternative from what he had planned and even more humiliating for the younger man.

Wesker’s body spasmed, trying to fight against the continued brutality, feeling himself start to lose consciousness from lack of air, his body sagging against the hand holding his head in place. Wesker did not dare even attempt to clench his teeth as much as he truly wanted to fight back and be defiant, knowing full well Sergei would deliver on his threat to smash his teeth and beat him to an inch of his life. Sergei had followed through on his threats before.

Sergei had taken advantage of him easily enough before this evening, but only when he could catch Wesker off guard completely was he highly successful. He would do so again and again and again as long as Wesker consciously and unconsciously baited him into doing so. The thick erection was withdrawn to give him several moments to take in some breaths through frothy bloody vomit and spittle that slid down his trembling jaw that had been stretched obscenely wide to accommodate the large cock. Able to control his vision once more, no longer on the verge of passing out, thick fingers forced his jaw open again, and the rock-hard cock resumed pummeling his mouth violently, more blood covering the rigid flesh and sliding down Wesker’s throat.

Eyes clenched tightly, Wesker could hear Sergei nearing his climax and prayed for it to all be over already, barely about to stay conscious despite the few breaths he was allowed to take. Without warning, his head was gripped in a vice-like hold as Sergei pressed his cock as far down Wesker’s throat as he could manage, his thick public hair rubbing against Wesker’s partially clogged nose. The smell fairly unpleasant and musky, even more so than the curdled milk and other stomach churned contents he had vomited up all over Sergei’s cock, pants, and himself. Wesker heaved, suddenly remember that Sergei had fucked someone’s ass that very afternoon and apparently not washed since. Fight renewed, Wesker scrambled to find enough purchase with his legs to dislodge himself to no avail.

Sergei withdrew and then slammed his cock back down Wesker’s throat as he came, repeating the powerful thrusts several times before burying himself again deeply into the tight clenching heat of Wesker’s throat, who continue to make heavenly loud wet choking noises in time to Sergei grunts, legs spasming against the floor.

Finally, withdrawing as he watched Wesker start to pass out again from lack of air, Sergei stared at his masterpiece as Wesker slumped back against the door, sucking in air and coughing blood and anything else caught in his throat, eyes bloodshot in agony as his throat and jaw burned and the back of his head ached. The pain from being kicked in the chest earlier seemed dull compared to the sting of his torn esophagus. Sergei patted Wesker’s hair as if he was a pet, “Good boy. You did well.”

No other words were spoken as Sergei forced the bathroom door open to release the belt holding Wesker in place. No longer being kept upright by his bound wrists, Wesker collapsed onto his side. A quiet, strangled agonizing sob shook his brutalized form, which caused a chuckle from the gray-haired man who was already walking away.

Distantly, Wesker heard the coat closet opening and closing after several minutes, long enough for Sergei to replace his coat and ascot, hiding the wet chunky mess Wesker had spewed all over his pants from the erupting vomit.

The front door opened and closed quietly, and the apartment was thrust in silent mourning of what had just transpired.

.....

Wesker barely repressed increasing loud sobs as he undid his belt that bound around his wrists with shaking fingers and teeth, which ached like nothing he had ever felt before. Once he freed his hands, he dragged himself into the bathroom, the toilet his ultimate destination. Reaching the porcelain bowl, he stuck several fingers down his throat, forcing himself to cough until he vomited blood and the thick cum Sergei had deposited down his esophagus into the toilet along with any remaining milk and other contents from his stomach.

It tasted awful. The salty bitterness of Sergei’s semen made its way along his tongue as he upchucked, and Wesker immediately had second thoughts at the taste of forcing himself to vomit even more than he already had that evening. Expelling the cum that had roiled around in his stomach, churning along with the last of his stomach contents, left a slight film in his mouth, and he used his swollen tongue to try and dislodge it to no avail. Shuddering as he flushed the last of the mess down the toilet, he made a mental note never to drink milk ever again. ‘Fuck, this is going to ruin my coffee regiment and… well any other white-colored liquid.’

Wesker’s balls throbbed now that he was done puking the last of his brains out. Always with the fucking balls, couldn’t they just give him a break, sprain something, a concussion maybe, but no, always a kick or punch to his crotch. It wasn’t his fault he had been blessed with a well-endowed package. He almost believed it all to be a conspiracy of an attack on his manhood at how much damage had been done to his crotch recently.

Yet this was the least of his worries. Despite his aching balls, he was more concerned by the partial erection that had been plaguing him almost from the very beginning. Practically since Sergei had forced him onto his knees and immobilized him against the door. However, after the kick to his groin, it had depleted, but by the end of the rough skull fucking, it had manifested with a vengeance straining against his pants. If Sergei had noticed it, he made no mention of it.

Unable to help himself as he pressed his sweaty forehead against the toilet seat, hunched over, he stared down at himself as he grabbed his throbbing cock with one hand, willing it away. His face collapsed as his breathing hitched as he touched himself. ‘ **No**! He would **not** indulge this!’

Releasing the unwelcomed erection, Wesker leaned back over the toilet to wretch, disgusted with himself that such a brutal rape would cause such strong physical arousal, unable to grasp why it had even happened in the first place.

.....

Once the guilty erection dissipated, Wesker felt he was ready to clean off any and all evidence of the evening’s activities. Throwing his soiled clothes in a heap with the intent to burn them later, Wesker stepped into a brutally hot shower. If he could, he would have sloughed off all his skin to get the feel of Sergei off him and burn his esophagus with acid to remove any trace of the repeated violations to this throat. Wesker stood in the shower, repeatedly washing his skin over and over, and scrubbed through his hair until he could not smell vomit or the dank musk of the older man’s crotch. Even going so far as to rinse his mouth out with soap. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing he had tasted that evening.

Stepping out, Wesker stood in front of the full-length mirror, observing all the new bruises, especially the large one in the shape of a boot covering his sternum. He also examined his scrotum, seeing how badly Sergei had marked the already tender area. Certainly not as bad as before, but still, his balls ached from the brutal kick. He slowly turned his head left and right to see the damage there. His lips had swelled as if he had made a sad attempt at being a Pete Burns wannabe. He also noticed the slight tearing at the corners of his mouth from his jaw being stretched so wide for so long.

As he inventoried his injuries, Wesker felt the return of unwanted arousal and quickly turned away from his reflection. Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Wesker clenched his eyes tightly to will away the blood flow to his cock, internally scolding himself, ‘No, No, No, **NO** … this is not happening! This is not fucking **happening**!’

Standing rigidly, Wesker clenched his fists tightly until he felt his nails pierce the skin of his palms, hard enough he could feel blood dripping from the small half-moon cuts. Only then was he able to push the unwanted arousal away.

Shuffling out of his bathroom with a towel secured around his waist, he set out towards the mess that had been made in his apartment from the confrontation. Glancing around, he noticed his notebook had somehow made its way onto the kitchen counter, and he huffed, irritated Sergei dared to touch his work. Stepping towards it, Wesker snatched up the partially ripped book.

Sifting through the pages, Wesker stopped on the last entry that was covered in Sergei’s scribbled writing. The formula he was on the verge of cracking was finished in its entirety. Sergei even went out of his way to make additional notes explaining the steps.

Wesker stared at the page with an indifferent expression until his hand started shaking, and he clenched the pages tighter, smearing the blood from his palms all over the completed formula. Pulling his swollen and cracked lips back in a vicious snarl, he tossed the notebook across the room, causing several pages to go flying.

Turning his back, he leaned heavily against the counter, head drooped forward in absolute frustration, eyes clenched tightly. Sergei was still always one step ahead of him.

*****

Wesker called out the next day, not wanting to give another shitty explanation why he was so banged up, and he felt like absolute shit, like he was coming down with something.

Trying to at least get some rest to recuperate his strength, he tried to ignore the relentless ringing of his telephone, and finally snapping, grabbed the phone, yelling a hoarse ‘what’ as loud as he was able into the receiver. It just so happened to be Chief Irons on the other line, checking to see how Wesker was doing, joy apparent in his chipper voice.

With barely repressed rage, Wesker seethed out, “What… do you… want **Brian**?!”

Irons chuckled, “Oh, first name basis now? I’m touched. Hmm, your voice sounds a bit… rough, **Albert**. Is everything alright? You’re not getting sick, are you?”

Wesker attempted to growl, but it came out more of a pitiful rumble, “Make no mistake Irons… I’m not done with you yet, you filthy fucking pig!”

Irons chuckled, smug in his response, “Is that a threat I hear, Wesker?”

Wesker’s voice cracked, “No. It’s a promise.” Wesker hung up immediately afterward and yanked the phone cord out of its jack. He really did not want to deal with any more calls today.

*****

Wesker wound up taking several days off as he ended up with a prolonged sore throat, cough, and slight fever. He knew it was strep just from the feel of it, and he tried to will it away by taking some leftover doxy from one of his prior missions. It was versatile enough and would reduce the symptoms and speed up his recovery.

Wesker hated calling out from work, but he was in no state of mind or body to deal with his subordinates or additional bullshit from Umbrella, for that matter. Of course, Sergei had gotten away with attacking him. Though he would never dare put in a formal complaint, knowing he would be asked 20 million questions to describe what had happened. Wesker wasn’t about to tell his security team at Arklay that Sergei had skull fucked him and gave him strep throat with his dirty stinking cock.

Popping another antibiotic, Wesker returned to his nest of blankets, well intent on sleeping his horrible ordeal away.

*****

About a week later, a plain manilla envelope with his name on it had made its way to Wesker’s desk, which contained an inconspicuously innocent cassette tape.

Wesker was not quite sure what was on it, but he had several guesses. Unable to help his curiosity, he decided why the fuck not. Maybe one of his sources had been lucky and recorded an incriminating statement.

Stepping out from his office, he tapped Chris’s shoulder, asking to borrow his Walkman. Chris smiled kindly and handed the device over.

Wesker thanked the younger man and stepped back into his office. Taking a quick step out, he addressed the room, “I do not want to be disturbed. I have some evidence to mull over and need full concentration. If you need anything, ask Marini.”

Several murmurs responded in affirmative, and he returned to the sanctuary of his office, the door closed and locked, blinds shut. Wesker sat in his chair and popped the cassette into the drop and closed it, locking the tape in place.

Waiting several moments, nervous of what he was about to hear, he finally pressed the play button to listen to whatever this mystery tape contained. Once he realized what he was listening to, he jerked forward, chair squealing at the abrupt movement, as he clenched his fingers into the armrests, knuckles ghost white, eyes wide in slightly panicked shock.

The first thing he heard was a familiar dark chuckle.

It was Sergei.

Then he heard knocking on the recording and knew Sergei had recorded the whole fucking thing, and Wesker would bet his life that this was not the only copy.

Wesker was disgusted, his face sneering in rage, sweat perspiring on his face and neck and ran down his spine, yet he continued to listen… listened to himself make noises of protest. Listened to the unruly banter, the returned threat of violence, and the obscene wet choking from the rough face fucking he had so brutally received. Unconsciously he rubbed his jaw and throat, fingers sliding across his sudden sweat-slick skin as he continued to listen. His mouth suddenly pooled with saliva at remembering the suffering he had endured, slight nausea causing his stomach to do backflips.

Stopping the tape was not an option.

Wesker was starting to feel aroused, and this time, he did not deny himself as he ran a hand over the tenting fabric of his pants, teasing the hardness there. Hissing slightly, he was glad he had locked his door.

Then came the moment when Sergei had kicked him, and he had begun to vomit. Wesker couldn’t get his pants open quick enough as he fumbled with his belt and zipper, quickly gripping his already dripping cock and started to stroke himself with a tight grip, listening to himself upchuck the force-fed milk all over Sergei’s thrusting dick, splattering all over his own face, shooting out of his nose and stinging his eyes as it had mixed with his stomach acid. Hearing the slop of plops as some of it hit the floor.

Wesker could barely remember seeing the slightly curdled milk that had drenched the front of Sergei’s pants and the entirety of his crotch, small chunks sticking to the thick, coarse public hair. Wesker could feel the slick dripping down his own neck and chest. It had been disgustingly rank, warm and sticky, and had soaked into his shirt and pants where it had spilled over. He remembered the smell, and he belched as his stomach threatened to heave despite the harsh pace he jerked his cock. It was acidic and incredibly unpleasant, and it had burned his nose and torn throat as the liquid launched its way violently upwards, escaping the confines of his stomach forcefully and out any path of least resistance.

Yet, despite all this, he could not stop his body’s reaction. Despite knowing how incredibly distasteful his sudden arousal was. The almost painful need for release tore through him the instant he first started hearing himself choke on the thick cock being forced down his throat.

But only himself. Wesker had tuned out Sergei’s voice and grunts and sighs of pleasure or any other noises the other man had made, for that matter.

Wesker roughly stroked his cock to his violent struggle that echoed in his ears. He envisioned watching himself during the torment, watching his struggle as Sergei pounded into his mouth without care for how much it was hurting him.

Suddenly the tape ended with a click, and he scrambled with a small, undignified cry to rewind the tape back to when Sergei had first kicked him and let it play over again.

Wesker jerked his cock harder, fisting it with a tighter grip as he focused intently on the violent noises he had made as he vomited and choked around the brutal face fucking.

His orgasm came hard and fast, and he held his breath, a trembling hand tight over his mouth, eyes wide as he watched his cock twitch with each thick spurt of semen that landed on the floor between his trembling legs. It was probably one of the best orgasms he had had in some time, and he milked it by continuing to jerk his aching cock.

Not wanting any of his subordinates to hear that he had been jerking off in his office, to the violent rape of his own mouth by his Umbrella superior no less, he kept his hand over his face until his breathing calmed.

He sat there for several minutes, his legs shaking from the intensity of his climax, still gripping his softened dick, leisurely rolling the evidence of his release around the sensitive head. Teasing it. Sighing, he resentfully released his grip, not sure a second go at the moment was wise. Cleaning himself up and resituating his pants, Wesker only felt slightly guilty. Only slightly.

Squeezing his hands into tight fists in frustration, Wesker hissed quietly to no one in particular as he reclined against his chair with a frustrated sigh, ‘Fuck you, Sergei! What the fuck have you done to me!’

Sighing, Wesker side-eyed the Walkman. He wasn't sure if he could handle listening to the other side of the tape at the moment. It was nearing close of business anyways. Once he was confined into the safety of his own home, he would listen to side B.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to tackle a darker angle of writing to saddle up for something much more horrendous that I have been sitting on for a while.
> 
> I wrote this before Pissing Contest.


End file.
